Hidden. Barbara Taylor Bradford
to get out of the chair. ‘I just can’t.’
‘Don’t run away. We have to make a plan. Seriously Claire, we can’t do what we’ve been doing. We have to talk about this.’
‘Talk about what?’ The man’s voice was coming from the doorway. Neither woman moved.
Mark Saunders didn’t so much walk as glide into a room, bringing with him a heady mixture of good looks, charm and a certain danger that made him impossible to ignore. At forty-four, he still had the boyish blond looks that women love.
‘Hello, darling.’ He leaned down to kiss Claire, who was trying desperately to control her trembling.
‘Good grief, you look as if someone shot your dog. What’s going on?’ There was a smile on his face, but he was on full alert, taking the measure of the mood in the room. That was what he did for a living.
He turned his smile on Sasha. ‘You look beautiful, as always. How’s Jeff? How are the television ads? Still busy persuading the public to buy things they don’t need?’
Sasha held his blue eyes but did not return the smile. ‘I do what I can.’ She sipped her wine, not taking her gaze off Mark. ‘And Jeff is fine. I’ll tell him you were asking about him.’
Shooting her friend a pleading look, Claire was on her feet. ‘I thought you weren’t coming home till much later. I would have had dinner—’
‘Stop,’ he purred, putting an arm around her, the model of a devoted husband. ‘You’ll make Sasha think I keep you chained to the stove. So, Sasha, what is it you and Claire must talk about? I’m afraid I interrupted you two.’
‘Actually, you did,’ Sasha now returned his mega-smile with one of her own, equally charming and equally false. ‘I’m trying to persuade Claire to have this year’s Near and Far charity fund-raiser at Gilda, but the poor lamb is stuck in the past. She’s afraid people won’t want to drive home from the city late at night.’
Sasha put her wine glass down, and took Claire’s as well, so Mark would not notice that her friend’s hand was trembling. ‘Mark, convince your wife that just because we live in Connecticut, we don’t need a passport to cross the border into New York City.’
‘I wouldn’t try to convince Claire of anything.’ The tension in his jaw began to fade. ‘She’s a woman who knows her own mind.’
‘Oh Mark, I know now why you’re the star of Washington. Always the diplomat! Claire’s a lucky girl.’ She kissed her friend on the cheek gingerly so as not to hurt the bruises. ‘And, for Heaven’s sake, watch where you’re walking from now on. Mark, tell her! She walked into the door of the closet this morning, and look what it did to her face.’ Sasha made sure that Mark looked at each and every mark on Claire’s beautiful face.
‘My dear, how did that happen?’ he asked, sounding puzzled.
‘You know Claire. She has her head in the clouds and doesn’t see the danger around her,’ Sasha replied, keeping her voice even.
‘You know I’m clumsy.’ Claire managed to make her voice sound normal. She didn’t dare show Sasha how grateful she was for this little performance.
Mark put one of his perfectly manicured fingers on her cheek and traced the line of bruises. ‘This looks wicked. Poor girl. Sasha is right. You must take better care of yourself.’
‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’
Sasha looked Claire in the eye. ‘I’m going to hold you to that promise.’
‘So will I,’ Mark said, kissing the bruises ever so gently. ‘Not to worry, Sasha, I will take care of your friend.’
Sasha had to hurry from the room, because she was very close to punching Mark in the face, just as he had done to Claire.
Claire knew Mark was watching: checking her mood, searching her eyes for secrets, judging each sentence that passed her lips.
He had taken his time with the dinner she had hurriedly prepared after Sasha left. ‘Are you sure you won’t have another glass of wine? It’s really excellent.’
‘I don’t think so, Mark.’
But he was already pouring. She dutifully thanked him and took a tiny sip. ‘What time do you leave for Egypt tomorrow?’
‘Early. You know, if you weren’t married to that job of yours, you could come with me. See the world.’
Claire managed a small laugh. ‘See the inside of a hotel room, you mean. You work night and day on these trips.’
‘And what do you do when I’m away?’
Claire knew she needed to be careful. She was silent.
‘Do you think you spend too much time with that gang of yours?’ he asked.
‘Mark, they are my friends; that’s all.’
‘You see them every day on the train. You’d think that would be enough. But then Saturday too. The unmissable Saturday lunches. What on earth do you find to talk about?’
‘You know. The kids, work.’
‘Do you tell them about me? What a monster I am?’
‘Of course I don’t.’
‘The roses look nice. Do you like them?’
It was all Claire could do to keep from screaming. ‘Very much,’ she answered quietly, holding herself still.
‘I’m sorry about last night. I feel terrible. But it’s almost as if you enjoy pushing my buttons.’ He stared at her intently.
Claire remained stock still, looking back at him, trying to keep her face blank. ‘If you had any idea how much pressure I’m under, how important my work is to the country, maybe you wouldn’t push me. Do you think I like hurting you?’
‘No. I don’t think that.’ Carefully, very carefully Claire pushed her chair back, keeping her tone light. ‘Are you about finished with dinner? It’s late in London, and I want to reach Deborah before she goes to bed.’
‘You know college kids. It’s her birthday. She’ll be up all night drinking shots with her friends.’
‘Mark, she won’t. She has to play for the college tomorrow, and she’ll want to be in top form. It’s the Royal Academy of Music, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Plenty of musicians party. Can’t she have a little fun?’ He turned his boyish grin on Claire. ‘You’re only twenty-one once.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Her smile was cautious. His love for Deborah always touched her and maybe he really was just being sweet tonight. She needed to stop expecting another explosion. She so wanted to believe it wouldn’t happen again. ‘I suppose just because our daughter is studying to be a concert pianist doesn’t mean she can’t be a good-looking party animal like her father.’
‘Was he?’ Mark was staring into his wine, swirling it around and around, staring into the glass.
‘Oh, you still are quite the party boy.’ She took another sip. The wine was calming her. ‘Good looking, too.’ She touched his hand.
‘I was talking about her real father.’
He smiled at her again, but this time a chill began climbing her spine. She carefully removed her hand from his, knowing she must tread carefully now, and not contradict him. Mark was at his most dangerous when he was being charming. ‘You are the only father she has ever known,’ Claire finally said.
‘You didn’t answer